


Dignity, Elegance and Eternal Commitment

by Fictionbookworm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, Drama, Friendship, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Harry Potter Has a Sibling, Hogwarts, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Reincarnation, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Strong Female Characters, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionbookworm/pseuds/Fictionbookworm
Summary: Why did it have to be Harry Potter? She hadn't even liked him as a book character and now you're telling her she gotta live with the kid? That ball of teenage angst? That trouble magnet? Maybe if she's really lucky she'll end up a squib. (Oh, would you look at that. She accidentally turned her dolls into piles of ash simply by staring angrily at them. Oops.) Also, did she mention how terribly cliché all of this was?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

She is sitting in the compartment, vacantly staring out onto the platform through the foggy window when the door slides open, and a pair of siblings come in, dragging their trunks behind them. 

“You’re late.” James accuses, having momentarily lifted his head from her lap to observe the newcomers. He drops it back with a tired groan. A morning person he was not, and they had been woken particularly early after a late night by a Jarvey who had found a way into the pantry. It had taken hours to catch the damn thing. 

“The hallway is very packed,” Ava explains with a gentle smile, sitting down on the opposite bench while her brother puts away their trunks. “Everyone is excited. They all say Harry Potter will be attending Hogwarts this year.” 

“He is.” She confirms with a faint grimace. Despite knowing this was coming, she still mourned the end of her relatively peaceful school days.

Kyle finally sits down too, pulling out a book from a pocket, and she takes a curious peek at the title - _Merpeople: A Comprehensive Guide to Their Language and Customs_ by Dylan Marwood. He always had the most interesting books. “It’s easy to forget you’re related.” He comments, flipping through the pages to find the spot he had left off of. “You never speak about him.” 

She doesn’t bother commenting on that nonchalant remark and returns her attention to the people on the platform. It was true anyway, she and Harry really did have a rather strained relationship, even if it was mainly her fault.

See, the thing is, she died once already. Though, hell if she remembered how. It could have been a simple heart attack or the famous Japanese Truck-kun, and she couldn’t care less to find out. She only knew there had been pain like she’d never felt before, and next thing she knows, she’s waking up as the world’s grumpiest toddler, and that was more than enough information for her, thank you very much.

That she did not remember her previous life immediately, her brain too young and too undeveloped to contain the memories of an entirely different world is one of the scarce things she was grateful for in this new life. She would have undoubtedly had long since gone mad, had she been aware during her own birth or those first few years of being a baby. 

What she downright hated, on the other hand, is that she’d been somehow reborn in J.K. Rowling’s fictional universe. To fucking James and Lily Potter of all people! 

She felt like crying whenever she thought about it even years after her horrifying realization. 

It’s not like she had replaced Harry, thank fuck, but she now was his previously unmentioned in anything but fanfics older sister. 

Which in fact – the second horrifying realization had come days after the first and brought with it renewed hysterics – might be even worse since she was not the hero of this story. That particular role remained Harry’s as far as she was aware unless in the last eleven years there had been a new secret prophecy, but that would be so cliché it was unlikely. He was the Chosen One, and she was the Girl-Who-Wasn’t-Supposed-To-Exist, period. Thus, she was unlikely to possess a similar protagonist plot armor to his, and yet she was just a little less likely to be targeted by Voldemort and his Death Eater cronies. She still was one of the Muggle-loving, blood-traitor Potters after all and an excellent prospective hostage.

Already, she’d survived that fateful Halloween only by sheer luck, having spent the entire day hiding in a closet just in case Rowling’s got the time of the attack wrong. When Voldemort came, at the right time too, as far as she was aware, he probably hadn’t even thought of the little girl who was doing her best not to make any sounds or even breathe, really, the entire time he was there. No doubt, it would have been a whole other story if he had indeed noticed her. Or maybe he had assumed he’d take care of her after he finished with Harry? Whatever the case, she lived, and that’s all that mattered to her. 

Make no mistake, she had tried warning the Potters, of course, she wasn’t a monster, and it was in her best interests for them to remain alive, but who was going to listen to a three-year-old, no matter how precocious? 

So yes, she’d been rather bitter about everything when they were left with the Dursleys, which meant she treated Harry a bit coldly at first. And after, she found it easier to avoid him altogether. How did it go again? Out of mind, out of sight, was it?

With a jerk, the train begins to move. Parents start waving and calling out last-minute advice and goodbyes as their children lean out the windows. A little red-headed girl runs after the train, half laughing, half crying until it gathered too much speed, and then she stood at the edge of the platform, waving. 

“How was your summer holiday?” Ava inquires when it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything more on the subject of her brother. “You spent most of it at James’, no? 

She smiles at the other girl, thankful for the subject change. “It was interesting.” She says noncommittedly.

James snorts. “We were almost arrested by the Muggle police.” He explains. 

The blond girl gasps, appalled, and even Kyle lifts his head from his book with a raised eyebrow. “And how did that happen?”

“Sorry, but we made a pact to never speak of it again.”

“We did learn that James has a horrible sense of direction and that he should never be the one trusted with the map.” She earns herself a glare for that comment, but the large grin James’ face splits into immediately after told her he wasn’t actually offended. It _had_ been very funny, no one could deny that. Except for the poor policemen, but she tried not to think about that. She hoped they hadn’t been traumatized too badly. 

“Like you were any better, Miss-let’s-obliviate-them.” He reminds her. 

She pouts. “It would have been a viable option.”

“Yes.” He retorts. “If we were allowed to use magic outside the school and if we knew how to cast it in the first place.”

“You’re both hopeless,” Kyle informs them, looking faintly amused. 

Ava giggles behind a delicate hand. “You must have done something other than whatever almost made you into juvenile criminals.” 

“Chores mostly.” James answers in a lazy draw. “There’s always a lot of those on the estate. Summer homework, of course. Dahlia learned how to ride on horses.” 

“Oh? How was it?” 

“Absolutely lovely.” She sighs, a dreamy expression flitting across her face, remembering all the afternoons they had spent racing through the fields of grass and flowers. “I loved it. Next year, I want to learn how to ride on an Abraxan.” 

“She’s a natural.” James boasts. “Only took a few bad falls in the beginning. What about you?” 

“We took a family trip to Greece. Visited the gorgeous beaches, and the temples…They were so beautiful, Jamie! You should have seen them! It was…”

She leans back into the bench, and sharing a fond smile with Kyle lets the chatter of their more talkative companions fill the compartment. 

It had been nice to spend an entire summer with one of her best friends, but she had missed the other two, despite writing to each other as often as possible. Even in her first life, she never had friends as close as they were. 

Somewhere around noon, with some clattering, a witch with a large sweets-laden trolley stops outside their compartment and slides open their door. “Anything off the trolley, dears?” 

James finally deigns to rise from her lap and reaches into his pocket for some money. “Two Pumpkin Pasties and a box of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans, please.” He turns back towards them. “You want anything?” 

“A Chocolate Frog, maybe? I think I’ll wait until the feast to eat.” She says thoughtfully. 

Kyle nods in agreement. “We’re quite alright, thank you.” 

“If you say so.” James shrugs and turns back to the trolley to pay. 

Coming back into the compartment, he tosses the Frog at her and collapses ungracefully back on the bench. 

“Who did you get, Dahlia?” Ava asks. 

She shrugs indifferently. “I don’t actually collect those, you know.”

“I’m aware. We don’t either, but our younger cousins do.”

“Theo and Draco, right?” Unwrapping her candy, she picks up the card. Albus Dumbledore. Of course. Perhaps Harry was also opening his own Chocolate Frog box and discovering the very same card somewhere on the train at this precise moment. 

She swipes with a thumb across the golden, glittering writing as she read the vaguely familiar words. 

_Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts._

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern_

_Times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for_

_his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945,_

_For the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s_

_Blood and his work on alchemy with his partner,_

_Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys_

_Chamber music and tenpin bowling._

This was the Golden Trio’s first mystery. The adventure that shaped their friendship from Quirrell’s troll on Halloween that became the cataclysm that brought them together, to their race against time to not only discover what was hidden on the third-floor corridor but to also protect it from a Dark Lord. 

She had already decided to limit her contribution if she ever got more involved than she was currently. And though her fear of accidentally changing the storyline so severely her future knowledge would be next to useless was the deciding factor behind her choice, she doubted she would regret it. After all, the Trio had succeeded without her help in the books. There was no reason they couldn’t do it now. 

“Dahlia?” 

“Ah, sorry. Here.” She hands the card to the concerned-looking Ava. “They probably both already have a Dumbledore, but they could always trade this one.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Just thinking.” 

Thankfully, before the other girl could try probing further, the compartment door slides open yet again, revealing a pair of first-year students. She turns away from Ava’s worried, pale blue eyes, feeling grateful for the interruption. 

That sentiment quickly faded for a faint sense of dismay.

Bushy brown hair, rather large front teeth, dressed in her uniform with hours to go till they reach Hogwarts, and accompanied by a nervous-looking, round-faced boy? This was clearly Hermione Granger. 

“Have you seen a toad? Neville lost his.” She says, and Jesus, Rowling’s had been right. She definitely had a bossy sort of voice. It was actually a little unpleasant even, to be addressed with that sort of tone by an eleven-year-old girl. 

Kyle lowers his book, a cold sort of look on his face. “We have not. I suggest you ask an older student to use a Summoning Charm for you.”

“Oh, of course. Wizards can do that.” Hermione pauses, and they exchange puzzled glances when she doesn’t immediately thank them and leaves. “What are you reading? I’ve learned all our set books by heart, of course, and I have done some background reading, but there’s still so much I’m missing. Nobody has magic in my family, you know, we almost didn’t believe the letter when I got it. By the way, what Houses are you in? I hope I’m going to Gryffindor, but Ravenclaw sounds nice too. Is Slytherin really the House of the bullies?”

Did Hermione go around saying something similar to everyone she encounters? She could swear that was almost exactly what she had said to Harry and Ron when she had first met them. Thought it had been a while since she had read the books, so she could be wrong… And she obviously had not encountered any other Slytherin if she still went around insulting them like this. It’ll be a miracle if nobody cursed her before they reached Hogwarts at this rate. 

Neville fidgets nervously beside the young girl, clearly wanting to say something but too timid to do so. 

“I doubt you need to know about the customs of the Merpeople in your first year.” Ava finally says kindly, after a short moment of silence. “And I’m certain you will be sorted in the house you are most suited for.” 

The girl looks like she’s about to ask something else, but Neville gathers enough courage to tugs at her sleeve frantically, whispering something to her. The boy’s not stupid, she notes approvingly. At least he’s noticed that neither Kyle nor James were willing to entertain two firsties and their never-ending questions if his wary glances to her friends were anything to judge by. 

“Well, thank you for your help. We’ll be going then. Come along, Neville.” And with that, she flounces off, bushy hair bouncing and Neville trailing after her. 

“How rude.” Kyle eventually murmurs. “As expected from a muggle-born.” 

“Don’t be mean.” Ava chides him. “She’s just a little girl, she’ll learn.”

Once, she would have gotten uncomfortable with the blatant racism, but she’s long since gotten used to it. It’s what happened when you were friends with pure-bloods. As long as they didn’t call them mudbloods or harassed them in her presence she was willing to let a few comments slide. They couldn’t help it, she had reasoned when they had first met, they were raised to think that way by their own parents and their parents before them by their parents for generations. Besides, they were far from the worst. There were plenty who were much more overt with their disgust for the muggle-born. James, Ava, and Kyle only mostly thought of them as country uneducated bumpkins who were unwilling to learn the customs of the new society they were entering. Being seen with a book on wizard traditions and practices had helped her a lot with her own social standing. 

“So, what were you saying about divination, Kyle?” She changes the subject back to the one they were on before being interrupted by the Trolley witch. 

“That it is a useless class unless you already possess the gift of foresight. I do hope none of you took it, even for the easy marks. Dumbledore should have gotten rid of it ages ago.” He huffs. 

“Nah. I’ve got Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies.” 

“Muggle Studies? Why would you need Muggle Studies of all classes?” Kyle’s nose wrinkles in disgust. 

“We occasionally deal with muggles too, so mum insisted,” James explains indifferently. “Anything for the family business, you know?”

“And you, Dahlia? None of that nonsense from you I expect.”

“Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures.” She lists, lips twitching in amusement. She used to be a twenty-first-century muggle, she definitely did not need Muggle Studies. 

Ava frowns. “Are you certain? That’s a pretty heavy course load.” 

“I’ll probably drop Care of Magical Creatures in sixth year.” She shrugs. “It seems like something you should know at least the basics off, but I’m not planning on working with animals after we graduate.” And this way, she’ll have Hagrid as her teacher for only a year. Not that she had anything against him, but he clearly wasn’t the best suited for teaching. 

“I suppose it’s not a bad idea.” Ava concedes. “I’ll be taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, like Kyle. And maybe take Art or Music as an extra-curricular subject, I haven’t decided yet.” 

“You have one more week to choose for extra-curricular, right?” James recalls. 

“Yes. Which is why I want to wait and see, they allow you to visit the older classes.” 

For the next long while, they entertain themselves by debating the pros and cons of magical art and music, trying to decide which of the two classes would suit Ava best. Personally, she was all for the music course. She’d seen a magical art lesson in progress once through an open door and had been far from impressed. As a former amateur hobbyist painter, the sight of a group of students using only their wands as tools to spell on images onto blank canvas had offended her previously unknown sensibilities, but she knew trying to convince the other girl to take the Muggle Art class instead was a futile endeavor. And although she suspected magical music similarly used magic to play the instruments, Ava had a beautiful voice and would make a wonderful singer. 

“What about chants?” She scrambles desperately for something, anything when it becomes clear she’s about to lose the debate. “You’re one of Professor Flitwick’s favorites, maybe he would be willing to teach you how to sing spell?

The others paused, surprised. 

“That is…” Kyle trails off thoughtfully. 

“A very good idea.” Ava finished for her brother. “Good job, Dahlia.” 

She grins victoriously in response and leans back into the seat, practically radiating smugness. She knew reading all those history books wouldn’t be useless! 

James turns to the window, and she thinks he’ll start sulking now. He had wanted Ava to choose the art classes, if only for the sake of winning the argument rather than having any real desire of seeing her in them.

To her surprise, he doesn’t. 

“I reckon it’s time to get changed. It’s getting dark.” He says instead, standing up. “We’ll let you girls go first.” 

Kyle murmurs a spell while tapping his wand on the windows looking out to the corridor, and also steps out. Behind him, the glass slowly darkens until it was impossible to see through. 

They change quickly, helping each other smooth out wrinkles and tie their ties correctly. Ava’s uniform is of noticeably better quality than hers, but neither does she look like a Weasley in their obvious second-hand clothes. She hadn’t seen the need to buy expensive clothes when she was only going to use them for a year before she outgrew them again, so she’d bought her robes already used and then had them magically fixed up by a seamstress until they looked like new. It was still less costly than brand-new ones, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why the Weasleys didn’t do the same. 

When they’re done, it’s their turn to loiter in front of the compartment door. It gradually grows more chaotic in the corridor as students start getting ready for disembarking. Prefects rush to and from compartments as they try to warn everyone of their imminent arrival, and the other students run back to their original seats for their things having previously left to go greet friends. 

As she steps out of the way of a harried-looking firstie, a voice echoes through the train. “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.” 

The boys join them just as the train starts slowing down, and they start making their way towards the closest door leading to the outside, pushing their way through the rapidly growing mass of students. Already, they could hear Hagrid call for the first years.

“That oaf,” James mutters, probably not intending to be heard above the din of the crowd. “We haven’t even stopped yet.” 

It was cold outside, and she wraps her arms around herself once she steps off the train, shivering. Ava sniffs daintily beside her, leaning into her brother’s side for warmth. 

They follow the rough dirt road leading from the platform to the stagecoaches, and just like the previous year, she has to studiously avoid looking at their front. Thestrals, she found, are even more creepy in reality than in the movies. Perhaps it was how disturbingly thin they were, their skin clinging to a fleshless skeleton. Or maybe it was their eyes, pupil-less and white, but unmistakeably still able to see the students walking around them. 

The journey towards the castle is spent in silence, each of them content to lean back into the lumpy seats as the carriage rattled and swayed beneath them up the long, sloping drive.

Their quiet is broken only after they walk through the giant oak front doors of the castle, past the cavernous entrance hall, and finally, stop beside the doorway leading to the Great Hall. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Ava asks.

“The usual time, the usual place,” James confirms it. 

With a nod, they split up, heading towards their respective House tables. 

Her usual spot - somewhere near the middle of the table - is still empty, so she settles down with a pleased sigh before cordially greeting her Housemates. It was good to be back, despite all the trouble that will soon start. 

“How was your summer, Potter?” Zabini inquiries from the seat in front of hers.

“Pleasant.” She replies. “How was yours?”

“Enjoyable.” 

They share a quick smile and turn towards the front as a long line of scared first years enters, led by Professor McGonagall, who was carrying a four-legged stool on which sat an ancient wizard’s hat. It was frayed and dirty and getting worse with each year; Aunt Petunia would have never let it into the house and would not have been the only one. She could hardly believe she’d willingly consented to wear that rag.

The noise in the Great Hall fades away, and she feels the first threads of anxiety curl in her stomach. She’d been avoiding thinking about it, but what if her presence had changed something and Harry didn’t go to Gryffindor? What was she supposed to do then? Her foreknowledge would be completely useless before the story even got properly started. 

The Sorting Hat might have been signing, but it was as if she was underwater, everything muffled and distorted. She clenches her suddenly clammy hands in her skirt. 

A little girl with blond pigtails staggers out of the line of first years, puts on the hat, and almost immediately is sent to Hufflepuff. 

The next one is also Hufflepuff, but the first boy called up is a Ravenclaw. 

Ravenclaw again, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Slytherin, Hufflepuff… 

Hermione ended up in Gryffindor, of course… 

Neville forgot he was wearing the hat and had to return to give it to the next student… 

Slytherin for Draco Malfoy, already swaggering around like his father…

The crowd of first years slowly thinned, and finally, finally, Professor McGonagall calls for ‘Potter, Harry’. 

Her brother stumbles towards the stool with a rather queasy face, a crooked tie, and an untucked shirt, she distantly notices unsurprised. Like most little boys, Harry has never cared much about his appearance beyond complaining about Dudley’s old clothes. 

He sits down on the creaking stool, and the hat drops over his eyes. 

It was not a Hatstall, but nonetheless, the seconds seem to stretch for an infinity. The Hall is deadly silent, everyone waiting for the result with bated breath. 

“GRYFFINDOR!”

She gasps and slumps forward on the table in relief. The Gryffindor table was going nuts, cheering, and jumping around. She thinks she hears the Weasley twins chanting something, but it’s indistinct, lost amidst the rest of the yelling. 

James nudges her with an elbow and cocks a questioning eyebrow when she looks up at him. 

“I was terrified he’d end up with us.” She admits with a weak smile. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She sighs and gestures with a slight move of her head at a quartet of their Housemates sitting not far from them. They were unsubtly glaring at Harry.

James winces. “Right. That.” 

The rest of the first years are sorted in quick order, the last one, Zabini’s younger cousin, going to Slytherin, and Professor McGonagall rolls up her scroll and takes the Sorting Hat away. 

The Headmaster gets up to his feet, beaming and spreading open his arms wide. “Welcome!” He greets. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” 

She vaguely remembered this from the books, so unperturbed she reaches for the potatoes while the rest of her table exchanges confused glances. Even for Dumbledore that was a little strange. 

“So, Harry Potter.” Burke begins, and she scowls at him. 

“Yes, he’s my brother, no, I’m not telling you anything else. Don’t you dare bother him, Craig Burke.” 

“Alright, alright, no need to bite my head off, Potter.” He laughs. “Pass the chicken.” 

“That goes for the rest of you as well.” She tells the rest of her unashamedly eavesdropping Housemates.

They grumble a bit but don’t argue either. She knows they weren’t going to let this go, not yet anyway, but for now, it was enough. 

Conversations pick up around them, and she lets herself be pulled into one about brooms. 

Eventually, the last of the dessert disappear, and Dumbledore stands once again. 

He gives a short cough, bringing the students' attention to him. “Just a few more words now that we are fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Here, his twinkling eyes flash in the direction of the Gryffindor table. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

A few people laugh, but her Housemates mainly react to that announcement by glowering at the Headmaster in discontent. They were of the opinion that anything life-threatening had no place in their school and were not happy with Dumbledore for allowing something that dangerous inside. 

Already, it was clear that several of the Gryffindors will try their luck and brave the third-floor corridor, and since she knew the door could be unlocked by a simple Unlocking Charm – a first-year spell – she will be very surprised if no one other than Professor Snape ends up mauled by Hagrid’s darling Fluffy by the end of the term. 

Truly, what possessed Dumbledore to keep a full-grown Cerberus in a school filled with curious, disobedient children and then announce it to everyone in a way that guaranteed someone will go exploring without fail… 

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Dumbledore cries, giving a little flick of his wand and ignoring the displeased murmuring of the students. A long golden ribbon rises high above the tables and twists itself into words. “Everyone pick your favorite tune, and off we go!” 

Much of her table remains stubbornly silent as it does every year, too proud to sing such a song, and most of the teachers accompany them, fixed smiles on their faces. 

_“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now, they’re bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So, teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we’ve forgot,_

_Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot.”_

The Weasley twins are the last to finish, having chosen a very slow funeral march, and Dumbledore conducts the remaining notes with his wand. 

“I feel like digging a rusted spoon in my ears every time I hear this.” James hisses to her. 

She nods in agreement. “This can’t be traditional. Can you imagine Salazar Slytherin agreeing to this? Besides, they would have been speaking in West Saxon when they founded the school.” She pauses. “Or it could have been Gaelic. Or Norse. Or even Norman French.” Burke throws her an incredulous glance, which she ignores, more interested in solving her self-posed riddle. “I know! They must have spoken in Latin. It makes the most sense what with our spells being bastardized Latin.” 

“Ah, music,” Dumbledore says, wiping his eyes, and Zabini scoffs at his dramatics. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!” 

Prefects start calling for the first years, and they deftly avoid the forming mass of tiny, sleepy students and make their way down to the dungeons in a small group. 

They’re stalled at the entrance of the Common Room for a moment with no knowledge of the new password, but they’re rescued from their predicament by another group of older students. 

“It’s Boomslang.” Malfoy informs them with a wink, and they, at long last, enter the place that will serve as their home until the next summer.

It was like a scene from a mysterious, underwater shipwreck, thanks to the large windows looking out into the depths of the Black Lake, where from time to time, bioluminescent fishes will flash by. The furniture, of black and dark green color, is elegant and tasteful, while the rough stone walls are not only beautifully carved but are also covered in tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Medieval Slytherins. 

It’s grand but quite cold, and she likes it that way. It may be nothing like the homey Gryffindor Common Room or Hufflepuff Basement or even the library-like Ravenclaw Tower, yet they wouldn’t change it for the world. 

They are soon joined by their new firsties, and she amuses herself by trying to pick out the ones she knew while the prefects talked. Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle was the easiest, but Pansy Parkinson wasn’t much harder to identify, already looking all love-struck at the blond. Theodore Nott was much harder, and she eventually spots him in a corner, hidden behind the bulk of Millicent Bulstrode. Blaise Zabini stuck out like a sore thumb with his Mediterranean skin tone in the middle of all the English pasty white.

With the customary yearly greetings – and warnings – done, everyone starts dispersing to their respective dorms, yawning and shuffling. 

“Good night,” James tells her sleepily. 

“Good night.” She repeats to him and stifles a yawn. 

Their dormitories, circularly-shaped and intended for five people, are much like the Common Room, with sophisticated dark furniture and carved but rough stone walls, yet lacking the tapestries. The four-poster beds are draped with green silk hangings and equally green silk bed sheets, while the floor is obscured by a Persian rug depicting intertwined silver snakes. But her favorite part was the ceiling. After a small extension of stone just above the beds, it gave way to a large dome of glass that colored the room in a green tinge. It was gorgeous. 

Their trunks had already arrived, so she quickly starts transferring her things to the big chest standing at the foot of her bed. She knew she would never get properly unpacked if she didn’t do it now. 

The other girls do the same, speaking in whispers and softly giggling. They were all tired. 

She taps with her wand the closest silver-wrought lantern to dim the light and slips under the warm sheets of her bed. The hangings slide close, muting the noise of her roommates also getting ready for bed, and sleep claims her quickly. 

She doesn’t dream. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, she’s the first one up. After a short trip to the bathroom, where she spends most of her time fighting with her hair, she slings her schoolbag over her shoulder and leaves the dormitory just as the other girls start stirring awake. The Curse of the Potter hair is real, guys. Trying to tame it every morning was an exercise of patience, and cutting it short would be a horrible fashion decision on her part, so she was stuck with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and Scalp Treatment potion.

James was already waiting for her, impatiently pacing in the Common Room. 

“Morning.” He greets.

“Good morning to you too.” She replies. “Shall we?” 

The Great Hall is still almost full when they arrive with the Slytherin table as the only exception.

For generations, older Slytherins had passed down their knowledge of secret corridors and passageways to their newest Housemates at the start of every year. As a result, while a student from another House might take fifteen minutes to walk from the Great Hall to the dungeons, they only needed five. They were Kings of the Hogwarts’ Basement, having left no corner unexplored, no stone overturned in their investigations. Their small kingdom was full of secrets only they knew, and that would remain so for as long as the castle stood. Plus, they got to have loads of fun watching the other Houses huff and puff as they attempt to reach the potions classroom in time, as they leave much later and still arrive earlier than them. 

She suspected Salazar Slytherin or some other powerful Slytherin had been a cold bastard that hated wasting more time than needed walking from place to place and had decided to fix the problem by literally carving shortcuts into the walls of Hogwarts. It was a very nice perk for the rest of them.

The same principle applied to their mornings. They were able to sleep in and still have ample time to eat, unlike the tower-dwelling Gryffindors and Ravenclaws which is why their table only filled up fully about half an hour before classes began. 

Hufflepuffs were cheats who lived next to the kitchens, so they didn’t count. 

Breakfast is a lively affair, the tables laden with porridge, toast, eggs and bacon, and pitchers of pumpkin juice which she avoided in favor of a cup of freshly brewed black tea. That drink was vile, and she is never touching it again. 

Eventually, the House Heads start moving along the tables handing out the course schedules.

“Miss Potter.”

She looks up from her plate. “Hello, Professor Snape.”

Severus Snape’s physical appearance really wasn’t as bad as Rowling had portrayed him. His skin was sallow only because he spent so much time in the dungeons brewing, and similarly, his hair was oily only due to the fumes from his potions. And his nose wasn’t that big, either. Very Jewish.

His personality… Well, he’d never treated her badly, despite being a Potter and as such his nemesis’ daughter. He seemed mostly content to ignore her as long as she caused him no trouble. He had been more attentive to her during the first year, but he had been probably looking for signs of her father’s behavior in her. She supposed her Slytherin sorting had thrown him and had made him more willing to really see _her_ and not a female James Potter copy with Lily’s eyes. The lack of glasses had possibly helped too. 

Moreover, his teaching style wasn’t bad. In the books, Harry’s dislike for the man had colored his descriptions of him, she had decided two potion classes in. He was strict, yes, but it was because he needed to be. Historically, potion classes had one of the highest death tolls along with Care of Magical Creatures. It was a highly precise art where a single wrong step could spell disaster not only for the brewer but for those around him too. A pinch more of an ingredient than needed could lead to an explosion. Stirring in the wrong direction could lead to poisonous fumes. Chopping instead of mincing could turn an otherwise perfectly good Pepperup into something that will boil alive the one drinking it instead of merely warming them up. Professor Snape couldn’t afford to be nice. Especially not to dunderheaded Gryffindors who threw fireworks into cauldrons full of unstable and potentially explosive liquid. 

He passes her a piece of parchment and moves on, cloak flaring dramatically behind him. Now that was something to admire. He made it look so easy, but she’s caught more than one person attempting to recreate it with no success. She had money bet on it being a spell of some sort. If a man could invent a curse that could cut a person open, he could definitely invent such a charm for his cloak. 

“Muggle Studies first…” 

“Be grateful, I’ve got Arithmancy first thing this morning, instead.” She tells James, returning her attention back to her timetable. “And then we’ve got Care of Magical Creatures together with the Gryffindors.” 

“Potions and Defense are with them too.” He grumbles in reply. “At least, Herbology and Transfiguration is with Ravenclaw.” 

“They always put us with Gryffindor,” Burke says. “You’d think they’d have learned by now.”

They laugh, thinking of the various explosions that happened during their two years of schooling. Some have been accidents, that’s true, but others? Not so much. 

It helped when Professor Snape was willing to turn a blind eye when it was his Slytherins doing mischief. 

And it wasn’t anything too dangerous. They’d learned their lesson concerning that too. 

Pucey is acting out Alicia Spinet’s frankly hilarious reaction to her Babbling Beverage splattering all over her as they leave the Great Hall when someone interrupts with a loud exclamation. “What are _you_ doing here?!” 

“Going to school. Honestly, what else would I be doing here, Harry?” She steps to the side of the doors leading to the Great Hall, mindful of the coming and going of the other students. 

“You’re a wizard?” He splutters sounding shocked. 

“A witch, actually, but yes, I have magic.” She peers at her brother in concern. “Is everything alright?” 

“NO!” He almost shouts. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I wasn’t allowed to at first. And then you got your letter.” She explains, bewildered. She’s absolutely certain Hagrid told him their parents were wizards, and she had been disappearing to a mysterious school she never spoke about since she turned eleven. It seemed fairly obvious to her even if no one straight up told him. “I thought you knew.” 

“How long did you know about this?” He demands. “How long did you know about magic?” 

“Oh, Harry.” She says helplessly. “Always. One of my earliest memories is of Mum making my toys dance in the air for me.” In this life anyway. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks again, only this time with less anger and more betrayal. 

“Yeah, why didn’t you tell him?!” Ron pipes up from beside him, indignantly. 

“Because Dumbledore didn’t want me to tell you. He wanted you to have a normal childhood.” She defends herself. Naturally, it was more complicated than that, but she really didn’t want to get into this in the middle of the Entrance Hall during breakfast. Or while Harry was eleven. Actually, it was a conversation she wasn’t planning on having with him for a long while yet. 

“With the Dursleys?” Harry says incredulously, and she winces. 

That hurt. She knew she hadn’t been the best sister, but she had thought Harry had been at least somewhat happy. 

“Listen, Potter,” James suddenly interjects harshly while the others threateningly finger their wands. “I don’t know about you, but we’ve got classes to get to. Save this for later. Much later.”

Faced with eight or so older Slytherins, the two first-year lions back off, and walk away, shooting them angry glances. She stands watching them, clutching the strap of her bag. 

“I think I just ruined his very first day of school.” She says glumly. 

Zabini sneers. “It’s not your fault, Potter. Your brother’s a Gryffindor idiot, that’s all.” 

“Thanks.” She replies in a dry voice. 

James gives her a one-arm hug. “We can talk about this after class if you want. Get Ava too. She’ll know what to do.”

“No.” She smiles gratefully at him. “It’s fine. I’ll see you in Care.” 

Despite previously having been excited about her Arithmancy class, she finds herself dragging her feet now. She’d hoped to fix her relationship with Harry when he started attending Hogwarts. She’d imagined mentoring him through his classes and subtly helping in his adventures with her almost Potterhead-level knowledge while staying out of them. She thought he’d understand why she hadn’t told him about the truth about their parents and their magic. A month, she had assumed, would be enough for him to calm down from his justified anger. But that he hadn’t even realized that she also could use magic… She hadn’t been hiding it either, leaving her textbooks and assignments lying around everywhere in their shared room when she was home. How in the world could he have missed that? 

“He doesn’t look much like you,” Pucey observes. 

She startles slightly, having forgotten she wasn’t alone. “Who, Harry? Everyone always says we look like our father.” Though she didn’t quite agree. Her brother, maybe. Her? She thought she looked more like Katie McGrath, for some reason. A Morgana Katie McGrath before she went mad. 

“He’s got your coloring, but you’ve got that casual Black elegance he doesn’t.”

“My great-grandmother, the one who married Henry Potter, was a Black.” She recalls faintly. 

“We know,” Zabini says. “You simply _must_ read _Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ , Potter.”

“I am.” She protests because she’s surrounded by high-class pure-bloods day in and day out. “There’s a lot to get through, and I’m always getting distracted by more interesting reading material.” 

Pucey sighs sympathetically. “That thing’s a bore.”

She gives him a pitying glance. Most pure-blood heirs had to memorize their entire family tree by the time they were six. It was at times like those she was glad to be part of the blood-traitors community. No unrealistic expectations from her parents for one had they not been offed by Voldemort.

In the Arithmancy classroom, she joined by Ava who takes one look at her, and her mouth thins into a line. “Something happened.” She deduces.

She shakes her head, reaching into her leather satchel for her things. It was her third most expensive possession, bought in a muggle store for about a hundred-and-twenty pounds, and then charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm by a wizard for a couple of Galleons, but it was extremely useful and well worth the money she paid for it. That she could use it in both worlds without attracting strange looks was just a bonus. 

“Something must have happened.” Ava insists. “Was it your brother? Is he upset that you’re in Slytherin?”

Her second most expensive possession was a set of intricate fountain pens with cartridges of different colored ink she also bought in an antique muggle store. After a year of dealing with quills, which needed meticulous maintenance and often broke, she’s called it quits and never looked back. Archaic nonsense, she thought. It was the same reason she used parchment for only the final copy of the homework she was going to hand in to her teachers. All her notes were taken on lined paper which she kept carefully organized in leather-bound three-ring binders. Why leather-bound, exactly? Well, she did have appearances for her to keep up around her more Muggle-hating Housemates, and plastic would have looked a little out of place. 

“Dahlia, either you tell me, or I will ask James. You know he’ll tell me.”

“Harry is angry at me for not telling him about magic.” She gives up. 

Ava tilts her head, confused. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Because I wasn’t allowed too.” She hisses aggravated. “When Dumbledore left us at the Dursleys he specifically told me not to utter a word about wizards to Harry. He even cast a spell on me to make sure I wouldn’t. Hell, I couldn’t even write it.”

Professor Vector enters the classroom, and Ava turns to the front. “We’ll talk about this later.” She promises with steely determination. “This conversation is not over.” 

She groans in reply, defeated.

Arithmancy turns out to be very much like muggle mathematics were using the magical properties of numbers and many complicated equations competent Arithmancers could predict even the future. It had nothing of the wooliness Divination had and was heavily based on logic and probabilities. She could see why it would become Hermione’s favorite class. It was very logical. 

Their teacher, Professor Septima Vector, reminded her of Professor McGonagall, a strict and no-nonsense kind of witch. Already, by the end of their first class, they had a pile of complicated homework assigned for the next week.

Most of the students came out of the classroom looking shell-shocked and were clearly regretting taking the class. Except for the muggle-born; they looked smug.

“I knew _something_ of our so-called useless pre-Hogwarts education will be helpful.” One says to his friend gleefully. 

Their Care of Magical Creatures teacher was Silvanus Kettleburn who was missing all his limbs but an arm and half of one leg. He was reckless but brilliant, and best of all, he didn’t teach from the _Monster Book of Monsters_ , preferring Newt Scamander’s harmless _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. She’ll miss him when he retires. 

It was unfortunate they had to share the class with Gryffindor. They were starting with Nifflers, Professor Kettleburn’s favorite creatures, and perhaps one of hers now too – they were just so cute! – and the Weasley twins along with Jordan had looked frighteningly contemplative amidst their disruptive horsing around. She had spent more time than she’d liked watching them suspiciously. They had a bit of a rivalry going on, you see… Nothing serious, but it had landed each of them, including her to her slight chagrin, in detention more than once.

It had all begun by them pranking her in the middle of lunch in the Great Hall the second week of school. She had her pride and was having a tough time getting along with her new Housemates because of her so-called tainted blood, so she had snapped under the pressure and humiliation. Turns out, the twins hadn’t liked being cursed right back. They upped their game and pranked her again. She cursed them. By Christmastime, they were dueling in corridors. 

It was worth noting she was never to one who initiated the conflict. She was better than that, both as an adult albeit only mentally and a Slytherin, though she wasn’t above dishing out revenge. She could hold grudges pretty damn well if she felt like it, and boy did she dislike the Weasley Twins and Lee Jordan by association. 

By the end of the day, she was feeling content again, and it was with a smile she enters an unused classroom in a long-abandoned wing of the fourth floor after dinner. 

She passes the few remaining desks that had been pushed to the side and walks up the stairs that lead to what used to be a teacher’s office. When they had found it, it had been a small, mostly bare room but ever since they had started using it for themselves, it had slowly changed. The shelves along the walls had been filled with interesting books, remnants of the professor who once occupied the space and who had a wide-ranging interest while the floor was covered by a plush carpet and what must have been several dozen cushions of various color and size. A fire now permanently burned in the fireplace, and in the corner, an enchanted phonograph played soothing music. It was messy and cluttered, and it might not have been the Room of Requirement, but neither did it need to be. 

She and her friends were the only ones who knew about the room except for the Weasley Twins against who the place was heavily warded. The last time they tried coming in, it ended with a trip to the hospital wing for them. It was sometimes nice to have pure-blooded associates despite their rampant bigotry. Got you access to otherwise untouchable recourses like their well-stocked family libraries. 

Ava was already curled up in one of the two lumpy couches they had managed to transfigure after many trials and errors, and Kyle had claimed the other, so she drops down on a pile of cushions instead. Behind her, James closes the door and joins her on the floor with a relieved exhale. 

“Finally.” He grunts, stretching. “I’ve missed this place.” 

“I think we all did,” Ava says, and with a wave of her wand and a few muttered words fills four floating mugs with hot cocoa. She grabs one of them from the air when it drifts by and blows on the steam carefully.

“I hear we need to have quite the talk today,” Kyle says, eyeing her prudently over his own mug. Evidently, his sister had filled him in. 

James sits up, leaning his elbows on his crossed knees, and Ava uncurls on her couch, sitting properly and looking attentive. She wasn’t getting out of this one. 

“When You-Know-Who killed our parents, my godparents were already dead, and Harry’s turned out to be a Death Eater.” She begins haltingly, deliberating on what she should and should not say. Sirius Black, for example, was innocent, but she had no proof and no way to explain why she thought him as such. “I believe we were supposed to have gone to the Longbottoms – Alice was Harry's godmother – but…” Here, she shrugs helplessly. The fate of Alice and Frank Longbottom was not an unknown one to most British wizards. “Maybe they suspected they would be attacked because when Hagrid found us, he didn’t take us to them, but rather to our muggle aunt’s house. There, he met Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.”

“What was McGonagall doing there?” James asks, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“I have no idea.” She shakes her head, staring into her mug. “You have to understand, I was three-years-old, exhausted, and terrified. I wasn’t in any state to question anything. It’s a wonder I remember as much as I do.”

“What happened next?” Ava prompts. 

“Dumbledore made me promise to never speak a word of magic to Harry because he was afraid that being famous for something he didn’t remember, for something he did before he was walking or talking, would be enough to turn his head. He cast a spell on me to make certain I wouldn’t accidentally blab, gave me Harry and a letter for the muggles, and sat me down on the doorstep. Next thing I know, I’m being woken half-frozen by Aunt Petunia’s terrified scream in the morning.”

“He left you in an enchanted sleep on a doorstep, at night, in November, with no blankets or warming charms, with a baby and a single letter to explain your presence to the muggles?” Ava exclaims horrified. “He expected them to take you in just like that? Did he ever check if they were able to afford to take care of two more children? Muggles do use money, correct?” 

“Yes, they use money, they’re not animals. But I don’t know if they could afford it.” She says.

The Dursleys weren’t filthy rich, but they used to be a stable middle-class family. And while she was not entirely certain, she did think that her and Harry’s presence started straining their finances in the long run. Why else would Aunt Petunia start working part-time as a secretary? Raising three children at the same time wasn’t easy, and especially not when two of them had been unwanted in the first place. Dudley had still been spoiled rotten, of course, but he received piles of presents only on his birthdays and for Christmas, and they never reached the numbers Rowling’s had claimed they did. What was it again, thirty-six? Thirty-seven? 

It did explain some of their behavior Harry had described in the books, though. And she had born witness to some occurrences that her brother had been too young to remember but had explained much of the rest. For instance, the cupboard under the stairs. When they had first arrived, he’d been so scared of everything and everyone he’d spent days screaming for their parents. He only calmed down once he crawled into the cupboard and had locked himself in there by accident when Aunt Petunia had been cleaning the house. The Dursleys had been so thankful for the quiet when they had found him again that they had set up a crib for him in there when he’d restarted his screaming fit the moment they tried to pull him out. She hadn’t complained either, because she’d finally been able to sleep properly without a pounding headache for the first time in weeks, and she had gotten him out and into her room eventually. Not the smallest either, which had been the one Harry moved into after his Hogwarts acceptance letters started arriving, and Dudley had kept his broken and unwanted toys in Rowling’s universe. Aunt Petunia had declared that bedroom too small for both Harry and her, and it was Dudley’s now. She shared the bigger one with Harry.

She knows; it had surprised her too.

The chores? That was because Harry couldn’t stop getting in trouble even as a young child. Leave him unattended for a second, and he’d be trying to make friends with a venomous adder. Or he’d be running into traffic because he spotted something shiny on the other side. Or he’d be eating candy given to him by some suspicious shady character. In short, Harry had almost gotten himself killed often. The chores kept him concentrated on his task and most importantly out of trouble, and they never were more than what he could safely handle. She’d supervised him herself when he had started learning how to cook at the age of eight. He was absolutely not preparing complex dishes by the time he’d turned three like she’d heard some people assume in her previous life in the Harry Potter fandom. 

Oh, and the food. What did the fans say again? The Dursleys were starving poor Harry? Depriving him of meals as a punishment? About that. Turns out, Harry had been a very picky little boy. Feeding him properly was an incredibly difficult task, so Aunt Petunia finally gave up and started giving him exactly what he wanted even if that meant feeding him bread and cheese every day. She had never been able to eat a lot, being able to live healthily off less food than most, but even that looked reasonable compared to the amounts Harry would eat without complaining. Everyone got so used to his empty plates at dinnertime they forgot he needed more food, and even Harry had never said a word when he got over his picky tendencies. 

And there had been no physical abuse from the adults either, although they certainly had not minced their words. There were absolutely no frying pans being swung to the head or burns from being forcefully pressed to the hot stove, and Uncle Vernon took out his belt only once or twice when they really had deserved it. He had also pulled his blows and hit their soft bottoms, not their backs. They weren’t scarred to hell and back. They hadn’t needed to hide broken bones or bruise marks from fat fingers from other adults. 

It was Dudley who was a bully, and he’d been smart enough to never do it in front of grownups, so if Harry had avoided confrontations he’d been fine. Besides, she made sure Dudley would know what would happen if he thought of continuing his little hunting game with Harry pretty early. He might have been heavier than her by far even then, but she had several years of martial arts under her belt from her previous life. Against a couple of little kids? They didn’t stand a chance. Dudley learned his lesson and never again went further beyond prodding and pinching. 

It hadn’t been great. Verbal and emotional abuse never was okay, but it could have been worse, and anyway, it had been mostly name-calling and badmouthing James and Lily with the occasional ‘lazy’ and ‘ungrateful’ and the ever-popular ‘freak’ thrown their way. The Dursleys might not have been parents of the year, and they might have been neglectful, but they were far from ‘the worst kind of muggles’ Professor McGonagall. Neither of them had turned into Obscurials, have they? Neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon were the second coming of Mary Lou Barebone. 

“Why Hagrid?” Kyle asks when his sister looks too dismayed to says anything else. 

“I don’t know.” She says heavily. “Truth to be told, the first one to find us was Sirius, and it’s only after he coaxed me out of my hiding place that Hagrid appeared. He said something about Dumbledore having sent him for us, so Sirius gave him his flying motorcycle and disappeared. It’s only after I returned to the Wizarding world that I learned what happened to him.” That last part was false, but how could she have known the truth being stuck with the muggles? She was trying to keep her knowledge from the books and movies secret. 

“Then why didn’t Black kill you? If he was a loyal Death Eater he should have finished the job for his Lord.” Kyle musses. 

“Never mind that,” James says impatiently. “The man was obviously mad. I want to know why you didn’t find another wizard to help you.”

“I couldn’t. It must have been a boundary spell, like the one they cast on little children to prevent them from wandering off. I couldn’t leave beyond a certain distance from the house. Drove the Dursleys mad too, before we figured it out. It only faded away once I received my first Hogwarts’ letter.” 

“How awful,” Ava whispers, clutching her mug close to her chest.

James gestures with his hands widely, almost spilling his hot cocoa. “This has to be illegal! You were essentially a prisoner of your own home!” 

She laughs bitterly. “It isn’t. Not for Dumbledore. He’ll claim it was for my own safety or the safety of the Boy-Who-Lived, and he’ll get away scot-free.”

“Not even with a slap on his wrist.” Kyle agrees with her.

Dumbledore was so well regarded by most wizards, few would be willing to believe he was in the wrong. They would say she was an ungrateful child who knew little of the world and didn’t understand the honor of having The Great and Powerful and Noble Albus Dumbledore worry about her well-being. She’d spent eight years of her life unable to step further than the local school, and there was nothing she could do about it. There had been no trips to the zoo or the movie theater. No restaurants, or shopping. Aunt Petunia had to measure her at home and buy clothes for her without knowing if they fit properly or if she would even like them. She always worried that the neighbors will know there was something wrong by realizing that her forever polite and respectful niece wore ill-fitting, outdated clothes. She’d made sure the Dursleys couldn’t say anything bad about her by working summer jobs and babysitting year-round throughout the neighborhood. It had been a little harder to fix her brother’s reputation. 

“Are you going to tell Harry about Dumbledore’s spells?” Ava inquires in a low voice several minutes later. They’d been all sitting deep in thoughts and had been unwilling to be the one to break the uneasy silence first.

“No. Not yet, at least.” She amends immediately. “In a few years, maybe. When he’s older. He doesn’t need to know Dumbledore was willing to go such lengths to keep us with the muggles he hates just yet.”

“And the other Slytherins? Will they give you grief over this?”

She snorts, amused, but doesn’t answer.

“They know how to be discreet,” James assures the siblings. “They’ll be curious, but they won’t ask. Family matters stay family matters.”

“That’s a relief.” Ava sighs, and takes a sip from her mug, before grimacing. It had gone cold.

“But what should I tell Harry?” She wonders. “He won’t forgive me without a good reason.”

“Tell him bad people were looking for him, hence Dumbledore hid you where they wouldn’t look,” Kyle suggests. “He didn’t let you speak of magic because he feared Harry would go looking for it alone and without protection and get killed.”

“I wouldn’t be lying either.” She hums considering it. “For all we know, that’s exactly why he gave us to the muggles. Death Eaters would have looked for him after their Lord’s death, and they would have never thought to look for our mudblood mother’s remaining family.”

Of course, she knew the real reason they went to the Dursleys was because of the alleged bond of blood charm Dumbledore has cast on Harry after Lily had sacrificed herself for him. As long as he called 4 Privet Drive home or until he turned seventeen, Harry could not be touched or harmed by Voldemort from the moment Aunt Petunia agreed to take him in. Only now that she thought about it… She had been so concerned with following the storyline she forgot one crucial thing. She existed. She was Harry’s closest blood-relative. There had been no need for the Dursleys. And that changed things. 

They could have just as easily stayed in the Wizarding World as long as they stayed together. If Dumbledore had been so concerned about Death Eaters he could have given them to some of his most trusted members of the Order of the Phoenix. God, she’d have happily accepted even Alastor Moody or Aberforth Dumbledore as an adoptive parent over the Dursleys. 

And if it was the fame he was worried about, then he could have changed their names until it was time for Harry to attend Hogwarts. With a few glamour charms and makeup, they could have been made virtually unrecognizable. 

Or they could have been sent out of the country to France, to China, to fucking Alaska! 

There had been no need for the Dursleys. From the beginning, Dumbledore knew Petunia Dursley would not cheerfully take in her magical nephew and niece. And particularly not after magic took away her sister, because despite their estranged relationship, she still loved her. Aunt Petunia would never let herself get close to them, never let herself love them because she would always be afraid they will also die. She would forever worry their magic protection – if it ever existed in the first place because how was she to know she wasn’t being lied to – will fail like it had failed for her sister and her family will suffer. That her husband and her son will die by magic, unable to protect themselves because she agreed to raise Lily’s children. 

She glowers into her cup feeling frustrated. Trying to accurately guess what Dumbledore was thinking was impossible. She could only accept it happened the way it did and move on. “I’ll give Harry some time to calm down. Maybe he’ll think of an explanation on his own.” She says without much hope.

Her friends exchanged doubtful glances. She glares at them, daring to say anything about her happy fantasy. They – smartly – don’t. Instead, Kyle pulls out his homework, and James falls over into the cushions with a dramatic groan, cocoa almost spilling everywhere again.

Everyone laughs, and the morose atmosphere is broken. Their own homework is quickly pulled out too, and they set themselves to completing it. That was the good thing about having a Ravenclaw upperclassman for a friend, they were never late handing their assignments in. Kyle made sure they had everything done almost as soon as it was assigned. He also made certain to check it over for any mistakes and proofread their essays. When he found the time while doing his own work perfectly, she had no idea. He was scarily efficient like that. 

On the plus side, they always had good marks and never had to cram for their exams last minute. 

Their very own Hermione Granger. Only less know-it-all teacher’s pet and more hardass honor roll student tutor. Both she and James knew the moment they attempted to have him do their work for them, he’d drop them like hot potatoes. He didn’t stand for that kind of shit. Predominantly, it was because he couldn’t bear putting up with stupid people. Needless to say, he found the majority of the school intolerable. She and James became friends with him only because they had befriended Ava first. He’d have never given them the time of the day otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter. Anything you recognize is Rowling's.


End file.
